


The Kings, the Prince and the Sex Problem

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [9]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Childhood Trauma, Erebor, Erectile Dysfunction, F/M, Humour, M/M, Red Light District of Dale, Romance, What would these Four do without Each Other?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:43:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1284859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin and Thranduil are now betrothed - and loving it, LOL!  Likewise, Young Thorin is betrothed to Brangwyn whom he's been after for ages - and yet, now he has the right and the opportunity, he still hasn't bedded her.  It would appear that he has some kind of - ahem - sexual dysfunction.  What can the two kings do to help him get  stuck in there, so to speak?</p><p>This is story 9 out of 18 (so far) in the series.  Previous story: The Kings and the Marriage Proposals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.  
They may not mean to, but they do.  
They fill you with the faults they had  
And add some extra, just for you.  
  
But they were fucked up in their turn  
By fools in old-style hats and coats,  
Who half the time were soppy-stern  
And half at one another's throats.  
  
Man hands on misery to man.  
It deepens like a coastal shelf.  
Get out as early as you can,  
And don't have any kids yourself.

―Philip Larkin 1971

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings, the Prince and the Sex Problem

 

Chp I

 

Much Ado About Nothing

 

It was lucky that Thorin’s apartments were down a long corridor and in a separate wing because the loud moans emanating from his chambers might have caused a few raised eyebrows.  Thranduil had arrived back the previous evening after a week’s absence and the two kings had spent the night making up for lost time.

 

The elven king let out a loud cry and Thorin bit down passionately on his shoulder.  The dwarf grasped his hips and steadied himself for one last thrust, then the pair came ecstatically together.

 

The dwarf fell upon his lover and Thranduil grunted at his weight.  Thorin might be shorter but his heavily muscled body meant he was a lot heavier.  “Sorry,” he gasped breathlessly and he rolled off the elf’s slender form, onto the pillow.  Thranduil turned in his arms and pulled Thorin tightly against him.

 

“That was beautiful,” he whispered into Thorin’s dark mass of hair.  “You know me so well.”

 

“Well enough to make it perfect?” grinned Thorin, nipping his white neck.

 

“Let us say nearly perfect,” laughed the elven king.  “If I say more, then your vanity as a lover will be unbearable.”

 

Thorin gave an indignant snort but tucked himself comfortably into the crook of the elf’s arm.

 

“Don’t go to sleep,” he murmured.  “I want to talk about my heir.”

 

.o00o.

 

The aforementioned heir, Young Thorin, was lying at that very moment, wide awake, in the hour before dawn.  He never slept these days, at least not since his betrothal to Brangwyn a month ago.  She was everything he could want in a woman and, by Mahal, he wanted her!  But, but…. 

 

What _was_ his problem?

 

Well, actually, he could make a good guess.  And he thought back to those splinters of early memories when he had been a very young child in the Iron Hills.  He didn’t remember much: all he knew was that, one day there had been warmth and love and, the next day….not.  The bewilderment still sat like a cold stone inside him.  There were other flashes, of course, like the moment when he had run to his father and had tried to embrace him, but his father had pushed him away.  Or the endless stream of faceless nurses who tended to his physical needs and little else.  They never lasted long because dwarf women were few and far between and, once they came to work in Dain’s palace, they were soon picked off by enthusiastic suitors.

 

Once, he remembered as a toddler playing in the dirt with a bunch of other children.  If any of them got hurt, then their mothers would come and scoop them up and give them a cuddle.  He had fallen and he had sat crying with a cut knee, but nobody had come for him.  In the end, some of the older boys began to laugh at his grizzling and he had run away and hidden behind a tree, crying there on his own until the bleeding stopped.

 

As he grew older, he had no friends because no-one wanted to be friends with a prince in case they were thought sycophantic; and those who did become friendly were only being nice to him for their own ends but, once they had got from him whatever they were after, then they were gone. 

 

On top of that, his only contact with his father was when he was beaten by him for some minor misdemeanour or when he came to check out how well he was training with sword and axe.  He spent hours practising on his own because he had nothing better to do with his time and Dain grudgingly acknowledged his skill.  This is why he had been allowed to come with the army to Erebor and he had acquitted himself well at the Battle of the Five Armies when he had even impressed Thorin.

 

So, after Thorin had named him his heir and he had left the Iron Hills for the Mountain, he suddenly felt as though he had been released from some dark and oppressive prison and was soaring up into the light.  Thorin had been very kind to him and the other dwarves, especially those who had belonged to Thorin’s old Company, had been friendly and welcoming.  He had been given clothes and golden ornaments and weapons the like of which he had never possessed before.  He ate extremely well every day; his suite of rooms had once belonged to the king himself and, best of all, he had been presented with a most beautiful horse.

 

No, actually: that wasn’t the best of all.  The best of all was Brangwyn.  She was quite lovely, not only in face and form but in her warmth and generosity of spirit.  And when, on that first day, she had linked her arm in his so naturally and had walked with him through Erebor, showing him the sights, he suddenly realised that he couldn’t remember the last time that anyone had touched him with such gentle affection.  And when she had kissed him lightly on the cheek in parting, he thought that she must be the very first person since his mother’s death to do so.

 

But, it had all been so confusing and there had been so many mixed messages. He hadn’t known how to deal with Brangwyn nor with his feelings for her.  He had misunderstood the situation between her, Thorin and Thranduil and had treated her very badly.  Thorin had struck him in the face twice and he was reminded once more of his life in the Iron Hills.

 

He remembered with shame that afternoon when he had practically forced himself upon her.  And perhaps if Thorin hadn’t arrived in time, he would have done.  He didn’t know.  All he could really retain from that moment was how much he had wanted her, how hard he had been and how he had wanted to bury himself deep inside her and be loved.

 

And now, wonder of wonders, they were betrothed and, if he wanted, he could have her any time.  Brangwyn was even encouraging him to come to her bed.  And yet, he still hadn’t taken advantage of that which was the right of all betrothed couples.  “When we’re ready,” he had whispered in her ear in that romantic glade where they had exchanged rings.  Brangwyn had obviously been quite touched by his restraint but now was getting rather restless.  He would have to try soon.  But, the trouble was, he kept thinking about rejection, about offering his love and then being pushed away.  He was pretty confident that, when the time came, he wouldn’t be able to get it up.

 

.o00o.

 

“What about your heir?” asked Thranduil sleepily.

 

“I don’t think he can get it up,” responded Thorin in his normal blunt manner.

 

“What?!” exclaimed the elf, immediately awake.  “You’re joking, of course.  He’s been after her since he first arrived in Erebor and didn’t you have to drag him off her at one point?  You said he was practically bursting out of the front of his breeches.”

 

“Ah, yes,” said Thorin.  “But that was then and this is now.  Then, he thought she was a whore: my whore, someone involved in a threesome.  How much more exciting can things get?  He was in arrogant prince mode, about to take the thing he wanted.”

 

“And now?” asked Thranduil curiously.

 

“Well, now he knows she’s a virgin and that he must approach her humbly and offer her his love.  And how much love has that lad had in his life?  Not a lot, I suspect.  He really doesn’t know how to go about things.  Brangwyn implied to me the other day that they still hadn’t shared a bed.”

 

Thranduil laughed.  “That’s amazing when you think how much he wanted her only a few weeks ago.”

 

“So, what’s stopping him?  He must be afraid of not living up to expectations – of not being able to perform at the critical moment,” pondered the dwarf.

 

“That’s never been our problem,” whispered the elf in Thorin’s ear.  “I’ve managed to get it up this very minute.”

 

“Again?” laughed Thorin.

 

The elven king rolled on top of him and kissed his ear.  “Why not?” he murmured, lifting one of Thorin’s legs to rest on his hip.  And, as he thrust his way into his lover’s body, he felt the dwarf’s own erection give an answer as it hardened and throbbed and dug into his belly.

 

.o00o.

 

Brangwyn and Young Thorin were sitting quietly talking in the corner of the Great Hall that evening.  He loved being with her and he always felt bathed in her warmth.  It helped to heal the scars of all those years of living in the Iron Hills.  They talked of this and that, but, all the time, the prince felt that they were edging closer to the thing he most feared.  And, finally, she murmured gently, as if she sensed his fear: “I have made up the double bed.  Don’t you think it’s about time for us to use it?”

 

His head jerked in a nod and she rose smiling and took him by the hand and led him from the hall.

 

“There they go,” said Thorin to Thranduil, nodding in their direction.  “Let’s hope it all works out for the poor lad.”

 

Well……..it didn’t.

 

Brangwyn could not but be aware of his reluctance and she tried to make it easy for him.  She stripped off most of her own clothes – looking very fetching in a flimsy shift – and helped him unbutton his shirt.  Then she lay on the bed and pulled him down next to her. 

 

She was very tender with him, gently touching his face and chest and stroking his hair.  Young Thorin remembered the time of his assault on her and thought how easy it had seemed then: so erotic, so arousing.  He had been ready to go.  But, now he loved her and he was afraid.  She felt so soft; she smelled so fragrant but his cock remained stubbornly limp.

 

In the end, when she began to undo his breeches and he knew she would find out the truth of things at last, he could stand it no longer and, gasping, pulled away from her and got up from the bed.

 

“I’m sorry, Brangwyn,” he gabbled, hastily buttoning up his shirt, “but I’m really not feeling very well at the moment and I don’t think I can do justice to such a special occasion.”

 

And, before she could say anything to reassure him, he was gone from the room, leaving Brangwyn startled and frustrated upon the bed.

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

**Well, dear readers, I hope you enjoyed that!**

 

**For those who are interested in such things, the Elizabethan word 'Nothing' in my Shakespearean chapter title was another term for 'Sex'.  And Philip Larkin, the famous English poet who wrote the introductory lines, was the Librarian at my university.  He told me off once for returning a book late.  There, fame at last, LOL!**

 

**Next chapter: _She Stoops to Conquer_ , wherein Thorin and Thranduil advise both Young Thorin and Brangwyn how to get their sex life back on the right track.**

 

.o00o.


	2. She Stoops to Conquer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After that non-happening of a romantic night together with Dain's son, Young Thorin, Brangwyn seeks out the help of the two kings. Surely, with all their sexual experience, they have an answer to the two young people's problem?

.o00o.

 

Chp II

 

She Stoops to Conquer

 

Well, Brangwyn was not the sort of woman to let life and its vagaries dictate their terms to her and so, once the morning came, she got dressed, brushed her hair and marched out of her room determined to do something about things.

 

In their own bedroom, Thorin and Thranduil were also just getting up.  Thorin was standing by the bed, putting on a silk shirt, but the elven king was reluctant to let him go.  “Come back to bed,” he wheedled.  “It’s still quite early.”  But when the dwarf only grinned and continued to do up his buttons, Thranduil swung his long legs out of the bed and, sitting on the edge of the mattress, he wrapped his arms about Thorin’s waist, and buried his face in his lover’s groin, nuzzling and suckling his genitals.

 

“Sorry,” laughed Thorin, gently extracting himself from the elf lord’s embrace.  “However wonderful that feels, I must tear myself away.  I’m expecting a guest.  I’d get up if I were you.”

 

“What guest?” grumbled Thranduil, climbing into one of his silken robes. 

 

There was a sharp knock at the door.

 

“That guest,” replied the dwarf.  “At a guess, I’d say it’s Brangwyn – come for our advice, no doubt.”

 

And, yes, it was Brangwyn.  She walked into the room with a frown upon her face and plonked herself down into her favourite chair by the window.

 

“I’ve come for advice,” she said.  And Thorin gave Thranduil a knowing grin.  “And I would say,” she added, her eyes flicking over their dishevelled appearance, “that I have come to the right people.  Don’t you two ever keep your hands off each other?”

 

Thorin laughed.  “It’s called jealousy,” he said.  But, when her face crumpled and she looked about to cry, he immediately went down on his knees next to her and gave her a hug.  “Sorry,” he said.  “That was unfair.  You’re having problems with your betrothed, aren’t you?”

 

“I knew you’d guessed,” she gulped.  And Thranduil drew up a chair.

 

“Come on,” said the elven king gently.  “Tell us all about it.  I’m sure we can help you win the one you love.”

 

And so Brangwyn told them all the ins and outs of the previous few weeks and then gave a detailed account of her attempted night in bed with the young prince.  “And if I were a silly woman, I would blame myself,” she said.  “But, I know how much he wants me and I’ve experienced the strength of his desire. And so, I can only conclude that this has something to do with Dain and the way he’s been brought up.”

 

“That’s right,” sighed Thranduil.  “Blame the parents.  I’m sure that Legolas will have a few things to say about me when the time comes for him to form a relationship.”

 

“But, I think you’re right,” interrupted Thorin.  “I reckon he’s never experienced love, only rejection, and now he fears that you will reject him too.”

 

“Silly boy,” muttered Brangwyn, blowing her nose.  “If only he knew.”

 

“So,” mused Thranduil languidly as he twisted a strand of silver-gilt hair around his finger, “what we need to do is recreate that situation when he was so aroused he didn’t have time to think whether or not you would reject him.”

 

“Yes,” agreed Thorin, “you’ve got to put him into such a daze of desire that all he can think of is giving you a good – “

 

“Thorin!” snapped Brangwyn.  “I think we all get the idea.  Now just explain to me how I’m going to achieve it. ”  

 

“Well,” the dwarf laughed, “he was really turned on by the thought of you being a whore.  So-o-o, perhaps you’d better stop acting less like a sweet young dwarf woman and more like a lady of the night.”

 

Brangwyn giggled.  “I’m not quite sure I know how to do that,” she said.  “Perhaps you boys can give me a few pointers.  I’m sure you have a bit more experience than me.”

 

“You do us both a disservice,” was Thorin’s amused response.  “You should know how chaste we dwarves and elves are.  But,” and he gave a cheeky grin, “as young lads, groups of us used to go – er - sightseeing in the more – umm – colourful areas of Dale.”

 

“Then you must take me there!” exclaimed Brangwyn, “and I might get a better idea of how to behave.”

 

“We’ll go exploring tonight,” laughed Thorin, “fully cloaked and disguised, of course.”  And they cheerfully laid their plans together.

 

The prince made no appearance in the Great Hall for food that day, sending word that he was feeling unwell.

 

“Don’t worry,” whispered the elven king in an aside to the dwarf who was concerned that he might not seek their help.  “He’ll soon be feeling under pressure once more and then we’ll have him knocking on our door as well.”

 

.o00o.

 

The night was fine and clear and the three made their way - cloaks on, hoods up – into Dale.  It was a lively place after dark: lights burned, stalls lined the major streets and people fell into and out of the taverns.  Much of the town had been rebuilt in the past year and it was now an attractive place to be.

 

First, they had a drink in one of the taverns and, from their secluded seat, Brangwyn was able to study the behaviour of the bar girls.  She looked carefully at their clothes, their hair, their make-up – but, mostly, she studied their interaction with the customers.  They were very relaxed; they laughed a lot; they bent down and leaned over on the tables; and a huge amount of casual touching went on.

 

Outside once more, the three strolled down one particularly notorious street where women sat at the windows of the upper storeys and called out brazenly to passers-by, sometimes being coarse but, at others, surprisingly quick-tongued in their exchanges.  She had to laugh when both her companions were propositioned and it was interesting to see how uncomfortable they felt about it.

 

“Of course,” said Thranduil, “it is because we are in the company of a lady.”

 

But, being a lady was no protection and soon a group of men began to follow closely behind them.  “Time to go home,” whispered Thorin.  “They think you’re a new girl.  There can be no other reason for a woman to walk down this street.”  And his hand went to the sword that he had concealed beneath his cloak.

 

In the end, when the crowd grew more pressing, they had to run for it.  And Brangwyn finally made it back to Erebor, breathless and giggling a little bit hysterically.

 

“I think I’ve got the idea,” she thanked them.  “I’ll try a few things on him tomorrow evening.”  And they retired in an optimistic mood to their chambers.

 

.o00o.

 

“Come on,” said Thorin, leaping out of bed before his lover could grab him.  “I’m expecting the prince this morning.  He’s had two nights now to get himself into a state.  He can’t hold out much longer.”

 

Thranduil grumbled about the price of looking after the concerns of young people, but he got up anyway.  “And _tomorrow_ ,” he said, “kissing the dwarf and pulling him hard against a very needy erection, “tomorrow morning we shall have a lie-in and you can make it up to me.”

 

“Or perhaps,” murmured Thorin against the elf’s throat, “ _you_ can make it up to _me_. You’re just so much more creative than I am.”

 

The expected knock came at the door and the two kings reluctantly parted.  Young Thorin entered the apartment looking anxious and pale.  They ushered him to a seat and both gave him a kindly and encouraging look.  They were ready with a pre-arranged scenario.

 

“I think you have a problem,” said Thorin gently, “and I think you may have had it for some weeks.”

 

“How did you guess?” the prince asked, turning a little pink about the ears.

 

“Well, it’s obvious,” Thorin continued.  “All men have problems when they become betrothed.”

 

“They do?” asked the lad wide-eyed.

 

“Well, yes,” said Thranduil reassuringly.  “They’re entering into the unknown, aren’t they?  If they’re close to their father, young elves and dwarves usually have a good chat with them but, if they’re not, they just muddle through and make a mess of things.  We’ve been waiting for you to come knocking at our door for some time – and we’re a bit upset that you’ve taken so long to ask for our advice.”

 

“You are?” said the prince.

 

“Oh, yes,” continued Thorin nonchalantly, “because, as far as betrothals are concerned, Thranduil was married before and didn’t need any advice but I certainly did.”

 

“You did?” asked his heir.  He found that very difficult to imagine.  “Are you telling me that your first night wasn’t too successful?”

 

“It was an absolute failure,” lied Thorin.  “I found Thranduil so intimidating that I couldn’t get it up.”

 

(The two kings had argued for hours over who should tell this ignominious lie and had finally tossed a coin.)

 

Young Thorin relaxed a bit and slowly began to recount his failures as a lover.

 

“First night nerves,” Thranduil reassured him.  “You’ll be fine if you try again.”

 

The prince’s face dropped.  “Well, I can’t be sure of that,” he muttered.  I wish there were a way of ensuring an erection.”

 

He noticed that the kings looked at each other.  Thorin rose from his chair: “There just might be a way,” he said slowly.  And then he went to a bedside drawer and pulled out a small phial.  “There are two doses in this bottle,” he explained.  “You must be very careful when you measure it out.  If you take one dose an hour or so before you make love, you should put on quite an impressive performance.  We don’t recommend two doses because it will then make your performance so spectacular that Brangwyn might suspect.”

 

Young Thorin seized the phial eagerly as though his life depended on it.  “The drug has a bitter taste,” added Thranduil, “and so it is flavoured with sugar and lemon.”

 

The prince gave them effusive thanks and left the room, clutching his phial, and looking more than confident.  “I think we’ve done a good job there,” said Thorin.  “But,” he growled, “I wonder how long it will take for the rumour to spread around Erebor that I have trouble getting it up?”

 

“They’ll never believe it,” laughed Thranduil.  “But, I wouldn’t mind a demonstration, of course, just as a reassurance that you can.”  And he pushed the dwarf backwards into the bedroom.

 

.o00o.

 

**Third and final chapter: _All's Well that Ends Well,_ in which we discover whether or not Young Thorin's magic potion actually works, LOL! Hope to see you again next week.**

 

 

 

 


	3. All's Well that Ends Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Young Thorin is clutching his aphrodisiac and Brangwyn is wearing a new, sexy dress. Will these two things be enough to result in a satisfying outcome in the double bed? And, if so, what will the two kings do to celebrate the success of their ideas? And will Dain get to hear of that coin toss?

.o00o.

 

Chp III

 

All’s Well that Ends Well

 

Brangwyn sent a note to Young Thorin that afternoon inviting him to a private dinner in her apartments.  This suited the prince’s seduction plans perfectly and, an hour before he set out he took a dose from the phial.

 

And then he took a second dose.  You could never be too sure.

 

Brangwyn, meanwhile, was preparing in her bedroom.  She had visited a seamstress that morning who had done some adjustments to one of her gowns and now she had all her make-up and a selection of perfumes set out before her.  She climbed into the gown, put on twice as much make-up as usual, especially around the eyes, and sprayed herself heavily with perfume.  It wasn’t the cheap type that the women had been wearing last night, but it was powerful and musky and would have to do.  Then she piled up her hair in a much more relaxed style than usual and pulled some untidy curls loose all about her face and at the nape of her neck.

 

By the time that the prince came, all was ready, with food set out under covers on the sideboard, wine open on the table and candles lit all about the room.

 

“Come in,” she said in a dark, sultry voice, as she looked at him from under golden brows whilst tiny curls bobbed about her face.

 

The prince felt that he couldn’t breathe, so taken aback was he by the sight of Brangwyn in a dress cut so low that it just about skimmed her nipples.  He had never seen her attired like this before and he stumbled into the room.

 

She showed him to the table and, before he sat down, she leaned forward and breathed softly near his ear.  “You smell nice,” she said huskily.

 

“And – and - so do you,” he stuttered, feeling overwhelmed by her nearness and her perfume.  Her soft breath stirred the hair about his neck and he felt something else stirring in his breeches too.  The potion is working, he thought with a distracted part of his mind.

 

He sat down and she served the food, bending down in such a way that, for one goggle-eyed moment, he thought she would fall out of her dress.  (Brangwyn thought so too and it was a struggle not to grab the front of the dress and yank it up.)

 

Again and again, her breasts were within kissing distance and the smooth creaminess of her skin was a sore temptation.  Go on, go on, she urged him silently, but he showed a heroic restraint.

 

And all the time, she touched him: on his arm, on his chest, on his hair.  Every time she did it, a little shock ran through him and he shivered with desire.

 

She poured the wine and then gazed seductively over the rim.  (Thranduil had showed her how to do this.  My party trick, he had said.  It _nearly_ worked on Thorin the first time we met.)  Her eyes, outlined in kohl, looked so large, he thought that he could drown in them.

 

And then she served the dessert, a plate of ripe peaches.  A long lock of stray hair curled down her neck and disappeared into her cleavage.  As she placed the plate in front of him, he lifted the curl delicately and the back of his fingers brushing against the swell of her breasts nearly made both of them groan.  He tucked the tress behind her ear.  “That’s better,” he said and, for a moment, she remained inches away from his lips. 

 

She fluttered her lashes and ran a cool, tormenting finger down his cheek.  “Thank you,” she whispered and just as he was about to kiss her, she moved teasingly away.  By this time, the prince felt so swollen, he thought he would burst.  Why was he waiting?  He was betrothed!  And he suddenly pushed back his chair and catching her before she could sit down once more, pulled her into his arms.  At last, thought Brangwyn, and, as he kissed her, she seized his braids and held his lips tightly against her own.  You’re not escaping this time, she thought.

 

In some ways, it was an action replay of that time when he had been overcome with lust for her and, again, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.  But, this time, they loved each other and, this time, that love seemed to intensify the desire.  Just as before, he flung himself groaning upon her and buried his face between those lovely breasts.  But, no hand clamped down upon his collar or thwarted him in his pursuit.  And so, he fumbled with her bodice and managed to unbutton it down the front (nice big buttons, not fiddly little things: Brangwyn had thought of everything) and with a triumphant groan, he cupped a breast, released from its clothing, and sucked the nipple into his mouth.  Ecstasy!  He had wanted to do that all evening.

 

But Brangwyn was tugging at his own clothing and soon their garments were scattered on the floor.  He grabbed one of her hands and shoved it between his legs where he ached so much that he knew that he must fuck her or die.  She seized him firmly and with no maidenly blushes.  If you had close friends like Thorin and Thranduil, nothing could ever be embarrassing again.  And she laughingly wrapped her legs about him.

 

“I might hurt you,” he gasped.  And he did, but only a bit, and the sensations she experienced, as he thrust deep inside her, more than made up for it.  The explosion came quickly: they were both too wound up for any prolonged bout of love-making.  But, after a short sleep, she awoke to find him grinning at her.  “Again?” he asked.

 

By the morning, he was suitably impressed by the potency of the contents of the phial.  And, as he tried to tear himself away from the loveliness that was Brangwyn, he was already wondering how he would cope without it.  And, after the night they had just spent together, her expectations of him must be running very, very high.

 

They both came down very late for breakfast and, as the two kings laughed and winked across the table at them, they turned a deep red.  Then, after the dwarf and the elf had left the Great Hall, the prince whispered in his true love’s ear: “I’ll just be a moment – I’ll join you in our rooms very shortly.”  And then he hurried upstairs to Thorin’s apartments.

 

They were waiting for him there. “Well, how did it go?” asked Thranduil.  “As if we need to ask.”

 

“Brilliant,” replied Young Thorin, his delight showing in his face.  “But,” (and he looked a little guilty), “I used up the whole phial last night.  You don’t, by any chance, happen to have some more?”

 

“You mean, you’d like some more lemonade?” asked Thorin innocently.  And when the prince looked puzzled, he pulled a bottle out from the rack in the corner.  “Here, he said, you’re welcome to the lot, if you want it.”

 

The prince blinked and Thorin roared with laughter.  “It was just lemon syrup, lad.  It’s amazing how important the imagination is when it comes to love and lust.  You did it all by yourself and with no help from any magic potion.”

 

For a moment, Young Thorin was angry.  “You fooled me,” he cried.

 

“No, you fooled yourself,” smiled Thranduil.  “The only aphrodisiac you need is Brangwyn.  Off you go now.  You’ll see.”

 

“And we don’t want to see hide nor hair of you until tomorrow,” Thorin yelled after him as his heir disappeared off down the corridor.

 

The two kings chuckled as they locked the door.  “Now for a bit of us time,” sighed Thranduil, sinking down upon a sofa.  “I’ve wasted far too much of that this week.  How shall we please each other tonight, do you think?”

 

“Hmm,” said Thorin, sitting down opposite him.  “Going into Dale the other day gave me a few ideas.”

 

Thranduil looked startled.  Upset even.  “You’re not thinking about a woman, are you?” he asked.

 

“No,” replied Thorin, gazing at him through black, black lashes.  “But, I do fancy spending time with a slender whore with silver-gilt hair and the tightest arse on Middle-earth.  And I have no intention of waiting until tonight for my pleasure.”

 

Thranduil sashayed across the room and sat in Thorin’s lap, wriggling that tight little arse against the rise of the dwarf’s erection.  He let the silken robe slide coyly from one shoulder and Thorin nibbled at the ivory skin.  “I’m very expensive,” the elf murmured against the dwarven king’s throat, “but, just this one time, if you please me, you can have me for free.”

 

And then he stood up and, taking Thorin’s hand, led him to the bed where he found himself well and truly pleased.  “No charge,” he gasped as the dwarf brought him to yet another resounding climax. 

 

“And, after that performance,” snorted Thorin, “I should think not!”

 

.o00o.

 

Postscript:  As the two kings sat down to dine with most of the Company the following evening, Dain asked Thorin in a booming voice that echoed around the Hall, “Now, what’s all this I hear about you not being able to get it up?”

 

.o00o.

 

**Oh dear, poor Thorin.  He really did lose out when they tossed that coin, didn’t he, LOL?**

**Next story: _The Kings and the Rivals_.  Well, I’ve been trundling along these past few stories making everyone laugh a little, I hope.  But, my next one finishes on a rather bleak note and the one after that is the darkest I have written so far.  This is because Thorin, considering his own mortality, begins to get upset about the thought of who will be Thranduil’s lover once he is gone and he begins to look around the elven king’s court to see if he can work out who that might be.  But, it’s always best to leave well enough alone because you just don’t know what trouble you might stir up as Thorin discovers when he acquires a stalker.**

 

 


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